Brothers in Arms
by EmoPalmtree
Summary: America entered the scene late in WWII. England suffered dearly at the hand of the Axis Powers as a result. When America finally does come to lend military aid, tense feelings and past transgressions must be overcome before victory can be achieved. Sequal to The Revolution: A Brotherly Affair.


Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

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**_January, 1942  
_**

"You Goddamn, bloody twit…it took you long enough to get here!" The familiar voice made Alfred turn his head towards the sound. He almost wished he hadn't.

The bright smile that had been on his face only moments before disappeared in an instant as the sight of Arthur limping slightly towards him came into view. Unruly blonde hair was matted down slightly by a white strip of bandages around the complete span of his head, one of his arms was restrained in a sling and the state of his usually smart-looking uniform was less than satisfactory; splotched with dark stains, very likely being a combination of mud, blood and other bodily fluids. For the first time that he could remember, to Alfred, Arthur looked…very old and worn. But then again, there were those eyes of his. Bright green and burning with that deep-rooted pride that spanned across the ages from the very beginning of his existence. That familiar aspect alleviated a bit of the panic that shot through Alfred's system. But not by much.

"What are you staring at you git?" England grumbled in annoyance, shifting his weight to his good leg with a slight hobble. "Don't stand there looking like a bloody moron. If you would be so kind as to recall that there _is_ a war going on while we stand here idle."

Alfred cleared his throat, silently masking his uneasiness with his normal goofy façade. "Right…that's why I came anyhow!" The man's hero-quality grin stretched across his face with a practiced ease. "I came to save all your European butts from those evil Axis Powers! Don't worry Artie, your hero has arrived!"

Arthur did not appear to be amused, but despite the slight headache that would accompany the arrival of the bubbling ball of sunshine that was Alfred Jones, his support was indeed necessary. "Just…follow me. Tea is ready in the parlor, and we have some things to discuss."

~...~

England was no stranger to the repercussions that came along with war; both the ramifications on his citizens, economy and political climate, as well as its impact upon his own body. Broken bones, horrible pains ripping through his body, even blacking out at some points, but he took it all in stride because he must: his leaders still depended upon him, wounded or not. Germany's assaults had been particularly brutal though.

It had been over a year since the air strikes spanning several months over his countryside, but the wounds ran deep. By the end of the Battle of Britain over 23,000 of his people had been killed…over 32,000 more wounded and one personified nation shouldering the burden of their pain and suffering. Arthur had hoped that by the time America's president had agreed to send over troops – and inevitably Alfred himself – his wounds wouldn't have been as prominent, but of course fate decided now not to be in his favor. In tandem with further assaults on his troops outside of his borders, Arthur's battered body remained in its state of disrepair, and he was well aware of how Alfred was staring. He shakily poured tea into two cups with his good hand, frowning in concentration as he attempted to ignore Alfred's intent gaze at his back.

What was worse was the silence was an awkward one. How was he expected to start up conversation? 'Hey Alfred, glad to see you finally decided to buck up and help in Europe instead of sitting off on your lonesome (in your so-called neutrality. Ha! What a load of bollocks!) and letting the whole world just go to hell! Yes, thank you.' No. He could never bring himself to utter such words to the boy that caused, inadvertently perhaps but nonetheless did so, the decline of his once great empire. Yes, over the years some of the scars had healed, but emotional pain always ran deeper than physical.

"How're you feeling?" He could practically hear the frown in Alfred's voice without even needing to turn around.

"I'm healing. These injuries look worse than they actually are."

"We both know that's not true. Just like it wasn't true when I was a kid." Alfred frowned deeper.

_The door knob wriggled gently, making the tiny colony hop off his bed in utter excitement. "England! England!" His small feet padded in eager rhythm as he ran across the wood flooring to the front door. When the entrance actually did open Alfred stopped dead in his tracks._

_ "Oh Alfred…what's with that face?" A small, exhausted smile was aimed down at the boy. Arthur held a small box beneath the crook of his arm, but said arm was bandaged completely up through the sleeve of his shirt. Small bandages littered the rest of his skin; his forehead, just on the corner of his mouth, and over the junction of his neck housing his carotid and jugular just to name a few._

_ "E-England…"_

_ "It's nothing Alfred. There's was a bit of a battle before I got here. Nothing too serious, I assure you." The man smiled, kneeling down slowly to pat the boy's head. "Don't worry your little head about me lad. Now..buck up and give me a nice smile! Your smiling face is all the medicine I'll need."_

_ Alfred's eyes welled up with tears as he fiercely hugged his caretaker, burying his face into the man's shirt and fisting the already wrinkled fabric. Even at such a young age for a nation, he wasn't stupid. With every visit the number of bandages seemed to increase…what if England never came one week? What would happen? He buried his face deeper into his elder's chest, sniffling as Arthur rubbed comforting circles into his back while whispering comforting words into soft blonde tresses._

_ England…strong, unbreakable England was hurt. Did that mean he was being overwhelmed because he was weakening? Alfred's grip tightened on Arthur's shirt. _

_I'll just have to get stronger to protect him then!_

Arthur set his guest's teacup down on the side table with a slight clatter. "If you were truly concerned for the state of my well-being I suspect you would have shown up a bit earlier, hmm?" He hissed bitterly, green eyes flashing with distain as they met a set of baby blues. "It took a strike to your own land before it finally got through your thick skull that Europe might, _just might_, need assistance to regain stability on the continent!" The man turned away quickly, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace – opting to focus on the fire within, and his own smoldering feelings, than the obvious concern that had been held within Alfred's gaze. Arthur just couldn't take it right now. He – and his citizens – was growing tired; months of constant fear, battering at the hands of Axis forces and the stress of an attempt to lead his rag-tag group of nations to victory (and so far getting mixed results), had the once invincible nation at his breaking point. He wasn't aware of how his voice slowly began to raise in volume. "You're so goddamn selfish Alfred! You thought you could ease your conscience by offering that Lend-Lease plan? I know Chruchill told your president that all we needed was the tools and we could 'get the job done', but did you really believe that load of bollocks? My people were dying while you and your nation felt so damn giving by 'helping' us from overseas!"

Arthur gripped his wounded arm, trembling as his fury seeped from his person by way of verbal onslaught. All the while, Alfred remained uncharacteristically silent, just looking on with subtle, curious observance as Arthur became undone. "I-I hope you can sleep at night!" Arthur snapped, finally turning away from the fire to glower at his guest. "For all your talk of heroics…you make a God-awful hero Alfred."

There was deafening silence.

After what seemed like hours Alfred sighed softly and rose from his seat. He adjusted his bomber jacket with care, his expression unreadable. "…I read about the bombings." The man's voice was oddly calm and even; the sound somehow relieving a tiniest bit of tension that had been wound up in the room. "I stayed up every night by the phone so I could get updates from Washington whenever any new development came in. I cheered when your men repelled Ludwig's forces. I cried when I heard the numbers of the dead. I hoped every day that you weren't hurting as bad as I thought you were." Alfred slowly headed towards the door to the room, looking behind his shoulder to cast a small smile towards Arthur, catching the man off-guard with the action. "I know I'm not a hero yet. But I'm gonna prove to you that I can be…promise."

~...~

It was a bit unnerving how Alfred acted as though the Briton's outburst the night before hadn't even occurred. The man was back to his 'heroes and sunshine' attitude during their bosses' meeting, vehemently agreeing with his General Marshall that in order to achieve victory against Germany's forces, American forces should be increased in Britain and by the following year a full-scale invasion should be launched against the enemy. Needless to say, Arthur felt a bit nervous about the whole idea. He was in no condition to launch an unrestrained attack against Germany!

His leaders, thankfully, thought along the same lines. "Let's not be hasty in this decision." The stout man sitting beside his island nation's personification spoke up with surprising firmness coming from a man that was still on the mend from a heart attack the year previous. Despite his frail health, Winston Churchill was without a doubt the greatest advocate of Great Britain's well-being while simultaneously working to discover a way to end the war with the least amount of casualties for all. "Do not forget the great losses of the first World War. I'd rather we not make a decision that leads to such dire consequences yet again." The man glanced over at the blonde beside him. Arthur gave him a curt nod, looking back down at his lap.

Alfred eyed Arthur with veiled worry, frowning. "Well…I like the plan! But, what else could we do if not a full-scaled assault?"

"We've been focused on Germany. I suggest that we avert our attention from them, and strike at their power in the Mediterranean where their forces are stretched thinner. Not to mention that we may be able to uproot the power of Mussolini much quicker than that of the leaders of Japan or Germany." Churchill stated, flipping through the notes before him to confirm his theory. "Especially with the might of Mr. America here to assist us, I believe that this approach might be better suited for the condition our country is in."

"With all due respect…" Alfred looked over at his own boss, who had stood up from his seat, frowning softly. "I must disagree. Such an indirect approach will only draw out the time of this war and will increase the casualties!" And thus the debate started; the epitome of American impatience versus British caution.

Amidst heated words and roundabout arguments between the leaders of these two powers, Alfred shot Arthur a look; nodding to the door to the conference room with pleading eyes. Arthur sighed in resignation. It wasn't like his presence here would do anything more than succeed in agitating his already prominent headache, and if Alfred actually gained the attention span to join in with his boss in the debate he could expect said headache to be all the more worse. It was among the lesser of two evils to join his counterpart in taking their leave of the discussions. Both nations excused themselves (or rather Arthur did and Alfred just got out of his seat and left with the complaint of being hungry) and left the room, walking down the hall together.

Yet again in silence, the rigidity was stifling.

"Hey, Artie…you're not mad at me still, are ya?" Alfred's voice was soft, almost reminding Arthur of when he was a child and he'd suddenly quiet down when caught doing something naughty (granted, the quiet aspect lingered momentarily before there was avid denial, but it reminded the man nonetheless).

Arthur snorted, holding his head high. "Of course I am you git! I've got decades of reasons to be mad at you. One night isn't going to make that all go away!"

"…" Alfred frowned, thrusting his hands into his pockets as he stared straight ahead down the expanse of the hallway. "So…you hate me?"

The Briton stopped dead in his tracks, raising one thick eyebrow in a questioning manner. "What _are_ you talking about? I said I was **mad** at you. Not that I hated you." Arthur rubbed his temples lightly with an exasperated sigh. "I worry about what they teach children in your country if even their representative cannot make the distinction between the English definitions of 'anger' and 'hate'! Honestly, I should have been harsher on you in your studies – oof! A-Alfred? Let go of me you bloody idiot!"

Alfred grinned brightly, trapping the shorter man in a tight embrace, even picking him up enough that his feet dangled just above the carpet amidst his sudden jovial condition. "You still like me, even with all the mean things you said~!" The man laughed happily, spinning the irate nation around in his embrace.

"I never said the word 'like'! I'm STILL mad at you! Now unhand me!"

"Nah~"

~...~

Months of debate – it seemed that nowadays that was necessity in order to get anything done; nothing like the old days of if you wanted to perform a strike on an enemy you'd just grab a sword, pop on over and hack at a few people! Arthur sighed as he leaned back in his chair. _The days when things were so much simpler…_ Granted, the months of debate had borne fruit that made the Briton quite relieved despite all the hassle that came along with the democratic style of things. Churchill's proposition of amphibious landings in North Africa had finally been sanctioned (notwithstanding General Marshall's disappointment of his original stratagem being tossed out the window) and even now American forces were being mobilized to commence the initiation of said plan. They'd be deployed by the end of the year.

Arthur sighed again, sinking deeper into his chair and closing his eyes slowly. _Francis's armies will be able to help us from his colonies down south and then we could turn around and attack that annoying Italian with more ease_…as much as he hated the Frog, he certainly sympathized with his current state. The government had capitulated, resistance had been crushed, and Francis was in a worse physical state than the Briton.

He groaned in remembrance. Yes, he had centuries of quarrel with the nation, and yes, he found the man to be annoying and downright repulsive at times, but he was still an ally in this war. Now he was captured…

"_You bloody Frog! What are you doing?" Arthur leaned over the railing of his ship, yelling at the Frenchman on the shore until he was red in the face. "Get in your ships and sail your navy over to my home! O-or even a neutral port! I don't really give a damn, but just do it!" The royal navy stood at a ready at __Mers-el-Kebir with their ultimatum: sail to another port and have the ships confined, or be destroyed. Another navy in the hands of German forces could simply not be risked…_

_Francis leaned heavily upon a crutch as his free hand clutched the fabric of his once spotless cloak right over his heart in obvious agony. The blonde gritted his teeth, glaring up at his fellow nation. "Non! Why should I Angleterre? Zis is __**my**__ country, __**my**__ ships, and you 'ave __**no**__ right to give me zis choice!"_

"_Just shut up you fool! Get your arse in your ships! Germany will be over here at any momen –"_

" '_e 'as already been here rosbif!" he cried, gripping his chest tighter. England couldn't help but pale. France's heart – Paris – had fallen to Germany's might. The pain, in combination with his army's casualties and the destruction of his countryside, must have been great. Francis's eyes glittered with angry, pain induced tears before he quickly looked away from the Englishman. "S'éloigner de moi…"_

_Arthur didn't have to know a syllable of French to detect the bitterness and general meaning behind the words. He hissed as he stalked away from the side railing, eyes downcast._

"_Orders Mr. Kirkland?"_

"…_bomb them."_

"I had to…Germany would have had more ships…" Arthur folded in on himself, resting his elbows on his knees as he hid his face within his hands. He had left Francis there to get captured…he had bombarded their navy until noting but smoking hulls remained…There was a pang of guilt for the decision, but the Briton could not bring himself to regret following through the order. It was the right decision…right? "I need a drink."

"Scotch or Bourbon?" Arthur looked up to see the grinning face of a certain American, holding up two bottles he must have procured from his alcohol cabinet.

He couldn't help but stare at the smiley idiot for a moment before shaking his head and pushing himself to his feet. "Gin." He ignored the younger man's pout and grabbed a bottle of gin, pouring himself a glass while having the gentlemanly courtesy to leave an empty glass for Alfred to do with as he wished. Arthur collapsed back into his chair, sipping his drink. "…how long have you been standing there?"

Alfred took the seat beside Arthur's own, leaving the glass untouched on the counter. "It wasn't your fault ya know."

"Wonderful to know you were here that long." Arthur rolled his eyes, trying hard to concentrate on his drink; practically willing the alcohol to take him away from all the pain and guilt. He faintly recognized Alfred sighing obnoxiously loud off to his side.

After brief silence Alfred spoke up, "Don't ya worry, we'll get old Francy-pants back in no time now that I'm here! Marshall's got almost everything ready and we can leave for Africa super soon!" There was that 'sunshine and happiness' façade once again. "Wish we could have just gone in there and beat the hell outta them straight up though…! I could have done it, ya know! 'Cause I'm the hero and the hero's side always wins!"

"That would have been idiotic with the Allies' state at the moment. I was not about to send my men in on a suicide mission!" Arthur growled softly. He was certainly not in the mood to deal with the annoyingly vociferous American, especially not now when he felt his emotions heightened as such a monumental action was on the verge of being carried out in this war. He took another swig of gin in his frustration.

"Artie, come on…that's extreme callin it a 'suicide mission' –"

"No, what is extreme is you calling yourself a bloody 'hero'! What the hell has that claim done for the rest of the world, huh? A lot of goddamn headaches and a whole lot of nothing!" Arthur slammed his glass down on the side table as he stood; the exterior cracking slightly with the force. "What do you know America? You have no clue about how difficult the world is! All you have to deal with in your little corner of the world is your quiet brother and your weak southern neighbors! You've never had to deal with all of this…this…" As he searched for the proper term for which to sum up centuries of bloodshed and betrayal, his frame visibly shook with outrage and utter frustration. Alfred looked on with a neutral expression.

"Dude…you're _afraid_." The realization hit like a ton of bricks. Alfred blinked. "I figured you'd be nervous of a flat out assault, but you're really scared…"

"I-I am not!"

"..It's nothing to be ashamed of ya know. Everyone gets scared!"

Arthur looked away, hands clenched tightly into fists. Why did Alfred pick the worst times to be perceptive? The older nation's voice came out uneasy and low, "You don't know…you don't understand what I'm going through…you've never been under attack like this…"

Alfred smiled wistfully, leaning back slightly in his chair to look up at the ceiling. "Maybe not…I haven't been a country for as long as you have been, but I still can understand fear and pain like anybody else." The young nation smiled at his former caretaker. His normally goofy grin seemed to take on a more mature edge. " Ya know Artie, my boss said something that really made sense to me when he first became president. I stood behind him when he made his speech...it was super nice. It was: 'The only thing we have to fear is fear itself'…so, all the horrible outcomes and possibilities that might happen because of the things Germany, Italy and Japan are doing are not worth worrying about. If we were constantly scared of what _might_ happen, we'd never be brave enough to make decisions, huh?"

Arthur stared at the blonde in stunned silence as he slowly sank back down into his chair. Rarely his former colony was serious. Usually he would go on tirades about being a hero and rather boisterously proclaiming his ideas and policies to be the moral and most correct in the world; but such things were usually dismissed as the inevitable growth in America's ego as he rose on the world scene as a major power. The only times to date the older nation recalled Alfred as being so somber was after the first World War…and…_that_ day. Arthur remained silent, looking down at his hands with a contemplative expression. He hated to admit it when Alfred made a valid point, but he couldn't deny either. Therefore he opted to stay silent.

Alfred reached a hand over to touch his companion's shoulder. That bright smile greeted Arthur's vision, "What happened to the England I remember? Tough. Stubborn as hell! And not afraid of anyone who stood against him! Now…well…I dunno. I'm sure the guy I remember is somewhere in that battered body of yours! I'm just waiting for him to come back out and prove he's still there…"

Alfred moved to slowly withdraw his hand, only to stop when Arthur's remaining good hand shot out to catch the appendage. Alfred blinked behind his wired frames. "Are you trying to say I'm a coward…?" Shaggy strands of hair fell in front of his face as he averted his gaze to focus down on his lap. His voice was shaky. Unsure. "Is that what I've been reduced to in your eyes after all these years apart?"

"Artie…" Silence fell over the two for a few tense seconds before a small, reassuring squeeze was felt on his hand. "Arthur." Said man looked up slowly, his green eyes no longer budding with fulsome fire, but dull and weary from the toil of war. Alfred smiled gently at him with all the warmth he could muster from deep within his own being in hope that his vitality could transfer through his touch into the man before him. "I don't think that of you! All I'm saying is that you're…tired. From what I've heard and now what I've seen over here, you've taken the serious brunt of everything…" Alfred pulled the slightly shorter man into a careful embrace (very much aware of his own strength). "You're definitely not a coward."

"…A-Alfred." The Briton's voice was shaky as he slowly surrendered into hold, burying his face into the fur lining the collar of Alfred's bomber jacket. "So many have died. My people fear more bombings from when they wake to the time they go to sleep! Citizens and soldiers alike are dropping around me and there's not a bloody thing I can do to stop it from happening because I'm too damn w-weak…" Arthur's grip on the jacket tightened as he willed hot, frustrated tears down as they threatened to bubble over. "I-I used to be an empire! My people had nothing to fear then…why has the world changed s-so much..?"

"You're such an old man, talking like that…" Alfred smiled ruefully; rubbing the broken man's back as gently as possible. "You're living in the past! You're worried about previous mistakes and former tragedies, and that's what's bringing you down! It's not just the bombs, wounds and deaths that are making you feel so weak – look at me! Japan hurt me badly…but my people used that tragedy as motivation! We didn't mope! We're taking action and coming to help all of Europe to end this horrible war!" Alfred paused, craning his neck slightly to nuzzle the disheveled locks with his cheek and pulling the man into a tighter hug "…I came to help you, Arthur."

"Why…?" A slightly muffled sniff came from within the confines of Alfred's shoulder. "Y-you've been neutral this whole time, and n-now you suddenly come to help because Japan attacked you? It's just for revenge I'm sure –"

"Because that's what friends are for."

Arthur pulled back in surprise, gaping at the younger man. He hadn't misheard…he had said 'friends'.

Alfred smiled brightly. "I may be your ex-brother and I may get on your nerves all the time…but I'd still come to bat for you when you're in serious trouble because I'm your friend! I've gotten stronger, and now I can do the protecting. And together we can definitely beat those Axis Powers!"

_Maybe someday…we can be friends again. Not as brothers, but as equals in this world._

"So…don't be afraid of what's going to happen from now on." Alfred once again grasped his ex-brother's hand firmly, looking into his eyes with fiery determination. "I'm here."

Arthur slowly returned the pressure of Alfred's hand, a small, worn smile managing to creep into his features. "That's good to hear…because we have a lot of ground to cover if we're going to win this war."

_You know….for all your bumbling mistakes and annoying tirades, I suppose you really are a hero. I know I never will admit it, and I know you know this, but I hope you realize…even for all my harsh words and contrary actions, I really do love you Alfred; as a brother, and as a beloved friend. _

_Thank you._

_~...~_

"**We must all turn our backs upon the horrors of the past. We must look to the future. We cannot afford to drag forward cross the years that are to come the hatreds and revenges which have sprung from the injuries of the past."**

- Winston Churchill, September 19, 1946

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**A/N:** Well, this has been stuck in my head ever since I finished my last US and UK drabble. I do hope I have stayed true to the character's personalities and how they would react in such a situation. I do also hope that I have remained completely historically accurate (I've done much research so hopefully this has been achieved). So just to get any potential complaints out of the way let me explain myself...

I have deviated from the anime's interpretation of America somewhat. I think that whole "I'm a hero and the world can be happiness and sunshine if I'm here!" is a little overdone (I realize this is intentional since the whole show is a play on the world's sterotypes of each country, but still). When writing his character I'm trying to spin his cannon personality in a way that is convincing, somewhat realistic and doesn't annoy the hell out of anyone that reads his dialouge. Thus I interpret America in the way i have wrote him above. Forgive me if this ruins your view of the character in any way.

As for England I can only hope I have held to his character as well. He represents such a complex nation with a turbulent and bloody history that I'd imagine he'd have many...bottled up and conflicting feelings.

Forgive me, I just hope that I've entertained you readers and that my writing is adequate to achieve the feelings I aimed to convey. Comments, critisims (friendly, please) and reviews are welcomed to help with the improvement of my writing. And as always, thank you for your time. *bows*


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